


The Customer is Always Right

by LateStarter58



Series: The Companions [1]
Category: Henry V - Shakespeare, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, F/M, Future Fic, Robot Feels, Robot/Human Relationships, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 18:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: The world of the near future is largely under water. Those humans that remain live either isolated existences if they are rich, or in crowded, disease-ridden colonies if they are not. Those with money can buy almost anything, except, perhaps, love. But Barton European Systems, with new range of walking, talking, feeling robots, modelled to the client's specifications and called Companions, are hoping to change that...





	The Customer is Always Right

**Author's Note:**

> This was the beginning of what has become a large, sprawling and continuing series of stories about the Companions. It was originally inspired by the Isaac Asimov short story 'Satisfaction Guaranteed', which I read as a teenager and could never quite forget.

# Part One

## Day 1

‘As you wish, Madam’

The salesperson hologram in front of me frowned slightly. She had clearly decided I was making a grievous error but was too polite to say so. Or thought I was a massive perve; one of the two. Either way, she wasn’t hiding her distaste very well, which was foolish of her considering I owned most of the company she worked for.

‘Thank you,’ I continued brightly, ‘so, how long until you can deliver the first one?’

‘Well Madam, we have the basic units in stock, but the customising takes a few days. It’s not just the programming, you see, it’s the growth. They are mostly organic, as no doubt you have read in our brochure, and although we have developed methods to accelerate the process massively, it still doesn’t happen overnight; not yet anyway.’

‘Yes, yes, I know all about that. So… when?’

‘Thursday, Madam. I can guarantee Thursday a.m. CET.’

‘Good. Thank you.’

_Three days._

I waved my hand and the sour-faced bitch disappeared. Standing, I crossed the room to the glass wall. The Vosges Mountains rose up in front of me, dark, magnificent, but the tops were shrouded in a thick layer of cloud.

‘Image three,’ I murmured, and the actual view was replaced by one of the Oregon coast as it had been forty years ago. Bright sunshine from a sky dotted with clouds and the waves crashing on a rocky shore. Satisfied, I turned and looked at my home. This room was clean, tidy and, apart from the furniture, entirely barren. The seating was part of the building structure itself, although not fixed; a few taps on the master home screen in the study and the rooms could be reconfigured as I wished, instantly. The walls could be decorated too, but I had yet to find the motivation to scroll through and choose colours or images I liked, No prints or paintings of course, not in our brave new world.

You see, _things_ are expensive nowadays, even for the rich, (and I am very, _VERY_ rich) and they are difficult to transport. Data, on the other hand…well, it’s not exactly _free,_ but it is _available_ **.** I have a few beloved possessions, some here with me, some in Zurich, in that bank vault of my late husband’s. Most of his books are there; the really precious and rare ones, whereas mine are less valuable, except to me, so they are here, in my bedroom or the study. Take my great-grandmother’s _Complete Works of Shakespeare_ for example: not worth much, as it was a cheap edition and she scribbled all over it anyway. Most people would think me mad to read it at all, when you can watch the plays at the tap of your finger, all acted out in your own home at any time you like.

But I like things, _actual things_ , and books most of all. And for all the skill of the actors and directors, they can’t connect me with Great-Granny Julietta the way her notes in the margins and little bits of paper tucked in the pages do. But I keep quiet about this, on the rare occasions I talk to anybody who isn’t providing me with a service or selling me something. Or sitting in virtual meetings with me, assuming I am an idiot because I inherited my position from my husband. I do go to virtual parties from time to time, mainly so people know I am still alive. Travel is officially discouraged, except for genuine need or emergency, and few of those arise in the modern automated world I inhabit. Or I should say the rich - like me - inhabit.

Because, of course, the poor (which is most of what is left of the planet’s population) still live in homes with things in them (old things that is), and see other people in the flesh every day. Other people, with all their bacteria and viruses, and fists and knives and guns; all the dangers of _real life._ They still have babies and keep their children with them and die younger than they should. We rich can avoid all that and have been doing so since the seas began to rise and the antibiotics stopped working. But it didn’t come cheap. First we had to find places that were safe from the water. Then we had to find a way of living that avoided all those risks I mentioned. And then we had to find a way to live in those places, away from the risks, but without going insane. Or at least not _too_ quickly.

Humans haven’t changed, of course, and even the wealthy still want to mate. But the process is a bit more… _automated_ now. I met my late husband through a system designed to attach rich men to beautiful women who could spend their money. Nothing new there, I hear you say, but this one is a little more sophisticated than in the old days: it uses your genomes to determine compatibility and even allows for virtual dating for as long as necessary until you are both satisfied with the arrangement. Because, at heart, that is what it is: a business arrangement. _My cunt for your money_ ; that was ever the way of it. If my husband had wanted children, no doubt my uterus would have been included in the contract, but like most of us nowadays, he saw no point in breeding.

He had one major thing going for him in my opinion, apart, that is, from his wealth: he was old. Much, much older than me. Modern medicine can keep the rich alive to a great age, but even now we all have an expiry date. And he had the good grace not to live too long after we were married. I know, I sound like a right bitch. Well, darlings, I am.

A lonely bitch with loads of money and time on her hands. So, can you guess what I was ordering from the snotty cow?

## Day 3

Dawn came as grey as ever the day before my delivery was due. I rose and after breakfast I amused myself. I stood, surrounded by the rest of choir, all of us basking in the applause which filled the hall. It was perfect, and the joy of singing and of the music was still coursing through my veins. Nothing, well _almost_ nothing is better. I waved my hand and it all disappeared. I took part in concerts a lot; not real ones of course. Occasionally I did join other enthusiasts for a virtual performance, but mostly I made myself the star of a recording from long ago. I had lost count of the times I had sung the solos in Handel’s _Messiah_ at the Royal Albert Hall in London, or played the Countess in _The Marriage of Figaro_ at the Met _._ Such technology is still rare and expensive, but my late husband’s company makes it, so I get first pick.

I had all the gadgets I could wish for in this house. It isn’t a mansion, you understand. That would be wasteful, with only me in it. The European government wouldn’t allow it, and frankly, it’s hard enough rattling around in these four rooms alone as it is. But I had all the luxuries my wealth and position allowed me: you name it, I had it, and all automatic or virtual at that. Everything, that is, except companionship. Not even a pet, since they had been outlawed decades ago. How lovely it must have been to have a real, living, breathing furry or scaly creature share your life, the way my grandparents did. I understood that they were too wasteful of the world’s rare resources, not to mention food, but when you are alone, well…

No. I had to make do with holographic recordings, and some of the footage, well, it was amazing. Wild mammals before they all died out, monkeys, lions, _elephants._ And his (my) company had made the experience so much more life-like, with the smells and sensations adding to the sights and sounds. Things were moving on even faster than before, and it might be possible to have a pet, of a sort, in one’s own home, one day soon. The R & D department at _Barton European Systems_ were coming up with some amazing things on what seemed like a daily basis.

And it was their latest product that I was ordering the day before yesterday, or I should say it was five of their latest products, not yet on the open market. Five bespoke items, made to my very specific requirements, for my exclusive use. They were not to allow anyone else to order these exact models in my lifetime, I had insisted on that; being the widow of the founder of the company and chairing the board did allow me some privileges. And I would be paying for them, have no illusions about that. These were not the sort of thing you give away, and didn’t want to set a precedent of that type. No, what was special about them wasn’t that they would be freebies, oh no.

They were what the boffins (or perhaps the marketing department) were calling _Companions._ I had seen some examples and if those were anything to go by I was in for a treat. I had ordered five robots; androids might be a better word, since they are made, well, _grown_ from flesh and sort-of blood. They are living, after a fashion. And best of all, they _look and feel_ human.

_Just like a real boy…_

I had spent a great deal of time over the past few weeks choosing my specifications. There was a massive catalogue of possibilities. There were the generic good-looking types; male, female, undetermined, whatever floats your boat. I looked at them, but they were too bland. No, I was going to go for what they were calling _‘recreations’ –_ that is to say, one based on a real person, mostly the long-dead…The options were still dizzying; too many to choose from at first glance. I spent days just trawling through the thousands of pages of handsome faces (and I was only looking for hetero-males. How you would choose if you didn’t exclude some types is a mystery to me). Finally I had to close down the screen and sleep on it. I had to find a way of narrowing it down even more.

It was my books that did it, or more specifically, Great-Granny Julietta’s _Shakespeare_. There it was, in the margin of one of the plays (a bloody affair about war, ambition and the destructive nature of pride): a name. It was also the name on the yellowed piece of paper which had fallen out as I opened the page; a glowing review of a production of the same play. Julietta had written something on that too, but it was so faded now I could barely read it. I could just make out one word: ‘tears’. I checked the _Companion_ catalogue and sure enough, he was an option. Well, in fact he was five options. You could have four of his most successful (or I should say, popular) characters - because the person in question had been an actor, of course - or the man himself. I opened his page and that was that. No more thinking, no more browsing, no need to look further. Just one look at him had stopped my breath.

I was expecting the first part of my order tomorrow; I had requested one of each. Yes, greedy I know, but they all looked _SO_ delicious. And I could afford it. If the things were as good as the R & D department said they were – and if they proved as safe and reliable as they claimed – then I was going to be a very happy woman.

And a very _satisfied_ one.

# Part Two

## Day 4

I was lying in bed, imagining what the day would bring when a soft ding indicated that a message had arrived. I looked at the icon on the wall screen and a hologram appeared over the bed, just above my feet.

‘Your package has been dispatched, Madam. The drone should be with you within the hour.’

I leapt out of bed. For the first time in years I was excited about something. The first of my **_BES_** _ **Companions** :_ ** _Tom Hiddleston Special Edition_** was on its way! I walked through the hygiene arch in the en-suite, and as I looked at my reflexion I was reasonably satisfied with what I saw: a still-attractive woman in her forties, not slim but not too bad. I hadn’t needed any augmentation so far, anyway. My hair (always my best feature, I felt) looked good, curling over my shoulders in auburn waves. And then it occurred to me I was being ridiculous; the thing was programmed to find me attractive. I needn’t have bothered doing anything, it would still want to, you know…

Actually, what _was_ going to happen? I sat contemplating my breakfast of oats and synthetic fruit and wondered. First character on the list, winging his way to me right then, was a nineteenth-century gentleman, according to the information. He would be dressing accordingly, as I had specified, and his manners and speech would be in keeping with the era. I had meant to read the book, but in the end I had just watched the dramatization Tom Hiddleston himself had appeared in. I loved William immediately, if only because he had a little dog. And he was so sweetly romantic; oh how I longed for that!

I replayed the customer information holographic message that had arrived with my order confirmation; I wanted to be familiar with the start-up procedure. They said it was very easy, just ‘plug and play’, but this wasn’t a simple piece of technology. ‘William’ would be a living person, to all intents and purposes, and with his learning software he would get to know me and what I wanted from him, what I liked and so on. This process would start the moment he left his shipping container, already activated. Best of all, he was programmed to put my interests first, my safety but also my well-being. All in all he sounded as if he would be an ideal man, albeit an artificial one.

But _BES_ promised me I would not be able to tell…

A soft bong heralded the arrival of the drone. I waved my hand and the external door to the landing platform opened and a container wheeled itself in. The front opened and a tall, slim, very handsome man stepped out. He was dressed in full Victorian garb, from his brown riding boots to his silk waistcoat and cravat. A beautiful face was topped with a halo of blond curls. He was even more attractive than the catalogue made him appear; he was exactly like the man in the drama I had watched. He looked around and when he caught sight of me he bowed low.

‘William Buxton, Ma’am. Enchanted to make your acquaintance.’

He extended his hand and took my own, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. His eyes never left mine.

_Ooh this is going to be fun…_

I looked at him (already I was thinking of it as ‘him’), watching how his chest rose and fell in imitation of breathing, and watched as his eyes darted around, taking everything in. That was the only thing which gave him away so far, the rapidity of the eye movements. The sound of his voice seemed natural (and beautiful too), and his lips had been warm on my knuckles, as were his fingers. I shuddered in anticipation.

‘Please William, call me Chantal. Welcome!’

_Now, what did they say about this one? Oh yes, he would expect to ‘woo’ me…_

‘May I offer you something? Some tea, perhaps?’

‘Oh, but I believe such tasks are _my_ responsibility now I am here, Chantal.’ He smiled shyly.

_This is going to be fantastic fun…_

‘Well, if you insist, but let me at least show you around before you start work.’ I winked at him and he blushed. _Actually blushed_. Damn, the technology was good! And so was the software. I felt my heart racing as my mind ran through all the possibilities. He was so attractive that the anticipation of actually, well, you know… He was, they said, ‘fully-functional’.

_He_. Not _it. William_.

I felt faint. Now he was actually here, and so real, so life-like…

_Shit._

Mentally slapping myself, I coughed and led him into the study, pointing out everything he might need to use, or indeed fix if necessary. The main screen was there, the one from which I could alter the settings for the house, temperature, air quality, the furniture configuration. It was the room I used when I was working too, that is when I was telling my PA what to do or attending board meetings.

‘It may be necessary for you to leave if I am discussing confidential matters in here, William, but for the most part you may stay if you wish.’ I was trying to maintain the illusion that I was his employer, at least in my own head. It was obvious that I didn’t really need to show him the technology as he had taken in the entire room instantly. Now he was just watching me, his eyes drinking me in. My stomach was fluttering; I hadn’t felt this way in years, and this was an _artificial person_ for fuck’s sake! But the way he looked at me made me forget that. He was programmed to fall in love with me, I understood that on an intellectual level, but I was actually seeing it happen.

‘This is the bedroom.’ I waved my hand airily as we passed the doorway. I glanced at him. He did his thing of flicking his eyes all around every surface, but suddenly he was transfixed, staring at the shelves next to the bed.

‘May I enquire as to the purpose of those objects, Chantal?’ He was pointing to my books. My beloved books.

‘Oh, you need not concern yourself with those, William. They are examples of the way information was stored many years ago. I don’t need them, but they have great sentimental value to me.’

He nodded, as if he understood the concept of sentiment, and I guessed that such ideas were part of his programming. He would need to be able to respond appropriately to human emotions, and indeed to replicate them, after all. Then I noticed he was now looking at the bed. His tongue ran over his bottom lip, and the butterflies in my stomach stepped up their game considerably. I was expecting him to be coy, but there was nothing shy about the way his gaze moved from the bed to me. Not that there was any of that overt assessment you might think of as sexy, mind you. You know the sort of thing; the eyes running up and down the body, lingering on the tits or whatever. Oh no. This was much more subtle. His eyes were fixed on mine, and oh my, the engineering quality! I could see lust in that gaze; pure, unadulterated desire.

_Damn, those guys are good!_

I was not as pure as William, never could be. I did allow my eyes to caress him, all of him. I took an appraising look and there it was: a noticeable bulge, bigger than when he had arrived. Because yes, I had looked. I had read through ALL the specifications for this particular range, and there was something which leapt off the screen at me. Well, it would, since the 3D is so perfect…

Now, now; don’t judge. I mean if you are looking for a glorified sex-toy, you might as well go for one which replicates a man with a legendarily massive cock, darlings.

Don’t pretend you are any different.

I glanced at the clock on the screen behind him: he had only been in the house a few minutes.

_Isn’t he supposed to ‘woo’ me?_

Trying to cool things for at least a little longer, I showed him the small dining room and the kitchen. These were going to be where he did at least some of his ‘work’, after all. Food isn’t what it used to be; much of what the rich eat is synthetic, replicated stuff. It’s OK, nutritious of course, but it lacks excitement. And since I have been on my own I find it hard to motivate myself to prepare or even choose anything elaborate. William and his colleagues were going to change that, I hoped. Both by preparing me delicious meals, but also, perhaps, by making me want to eat them in their company.

We returned to the sitting room and I sat down. I noticed he waited for me to do so before he took a seat himself, gracefully folding his long body into a chair opposite me across the low table. I loved the way he moved, like a dancer. Long-limbed, lithe, he was definitely my ‘type’, just like the tall blond who claimed my virginity years ago. I had never quite got over him, but I had a feeling that these purchases were going to help.

‘What would like me to do, Chantal?’

I looked up sharply. This was rather forward. He was looking at me innocently enough, but a quick glance told me that the bulge hadn’t reduced; quite the reverse. Well, this _was_ why I had ordered him, after all. But I hesitated; I wanted things to remain in keeping with his character. And the notes had said that I shouldn’t try to rush the learning process. He would adapt as I wished, but not immediately.

_Fuck that_

‘I think, dear William, that I would like you to do what– apparently - _you_ would like to do. _To me_.’

He swallowed hard, and, standing up slowly he walked around the table and took my hand. His other arm came up and he cupped my cheek, then he leaned in to kiss me chastely on the lips. I took in the details of his face, so perfectly rendered: a high brow, giving him an air of intelligence; a pair of the bluest eyes I had ever seen (if I had not seen images of the actor himself I would have thought them overdone); cheekbones so sharp you might cut yourself on them; and that mouth. Oh how I wanted to feel those lips on me! I closed my eyes; it was the sweetest, sexiest kiss I could have imagined. He felt, _tasted_ human enough; I had to remind myself once more that he wasn’t a real person, because my body was responding to him in a very natural way. And so was his to me; his massive erection grazed me as he deepened the kiss. He broke it to whisper softly as he brushed his nose against my hair.

‘I know we have not known each other long, but I wish to make love to you, Chantal, if you will allow it.’

Afterwards, it occurred to me that this was one of the main parts of his programming kicking in. This was what I wanted, more than anything, and he had been made to respond to me, and that overrode his ‘character’ programming. I ought to have gone for one of the more overtly sexy choices first, probably. After all, I was very frustrated. But I thought I would need to take it slowly; I had no idea that he/it would be so fucking sexy and adorable. And irresistible.

‘That would be heavenly, William,’ I murmured as he kissed my neck.

He took my hand and led me to the bedroom. He removed my tunic and kissed my arms and collar-bones and the tops of my breasts. He undid my bra and he gasped as his hands caressed the flesh as it was revealed. Then he kneeled in front of me and gently pulled down my trousers and underwear.

He looked up at me and I melted. His face was the sweetest thing I had ever seen. So beautiful, so loving; could this really just be a machine?

And then he pressed his mouth against me and I gave no further thought to his humanity (or lack of it). I haven’t the slightest idea how you can programme an android to give a woman an orgasm, or I should say, _several orgasms,_ but I am profoundly grateful to whichever of those grey people in R & D did so. In keeping with his time, he was lacking in the vocabulary and to a certain extent, the geographical knowledge of later eras, but he more than made up for it in sheer enthusiasm and what I would have called in other circumstances ‘natural talent’. But the best was yet to come.

When he came to wield that weapon, that long, thick, beautiful weapon, still in his gentle, tentative, loving _William_ way I was fairly sure that life could not get any better. Or at least that sex couldn’t. He drove into me, slowly at first to allow my body to adjust. I had not had actual sex with anyone since my husband ceased to be capable, some fifteen years before, but I had made use of more conventional aids. However, this was something of a quite different order. Nothing gave away that he was not a man - except perhaps his perfection. After a few minutes of the exquisite torture of his slow thrusts I could not bear it and grabbed a handful of those boyish curls.

‘Harder, William. I need it harder and deeper.’

He moaned and did as I asked, still holding me gently and kissing me, whispering then shouting my name. As my fifth orgasm of the morning overtook me he appeared to reach his own. Of course it wasn’t genuine, how could it be? But he looked convincingly sated, drained and happy. His long limbs draped around me, he pulled me against his mostly-hairless chest and I heard and felt a heartbeat.

_Damn, those guys are good…_

I must have dozed off in my dreamy post-coital haze, because I woke up to find myself alone, but I soon spotted a note on the pillow next to my head. In gorgeous copperplate handwriting it said:

**_I am preparing you some lunch my darling. Thank you for allowing me such an honour; it was magical._ **

Now, that has got to be the first time a sex-aid ever thanked me for using it.

# Part Three

## Day 11

My week with William was pure bliss. When he wasn’t making sweet, sweet love to me (which was most of the time, I admit. What? Shut your face! I had a lot of catching up to do…), we swam in the lake below the house or he pottered in the kitchen while I read or worked. Oh yes, by the way, he is totally waterproof. I may have tested that feature a fair bit. The best part of swimming was the faces of my neighbours. I had been out there before, most of us do it in the warmer months; it’s the only chance we have to get wet, as drinking water is so precious. The lake isn’t dirty but it is full of life, which means I have to decontaminate every time, but it is well worth it. And swimming with William was more than worth it. The looks, the staring; I felt like a million dollars. The jealousy on the faces of those women!

I was beginning to regret ordering the other versions, William was such perfection, down to the sprinkling of freckles all over him (would the others have those, I wondered, were they Tom’s?). I loved to trace them with my tongue, and he shivered with pleasure when I did.

_Man, those boffins are geniuses_

But I had done it, and if I decided in the end to keep only William, well that was fine. And it would be interesting to compare him to the others. The next on the list could hardly be more different. I had done the reading in this case, because _oh my_ there was plenty to read. A comic-book character based on Norse myth; meaty, tantalising… I had started with the source material, then the comics (not my thing really, but amusing), then I watched the movies my chappie was from and … well! Not much sex, annoyingly, but plenty of sexy! I was very keen to meet Loki. _Very keen indeed_.

But it did mean saying goodbye to William, temporarily at least. He would return to his container, which was in the storage area below the landing platform and, deactivated, await my call. The instructions confirmed that it would not be necessary to teach Loki everything that William had learned, the data would be transferred when Loki arrived. It can be done remotely, they said, but as both units were going to be in the same place they just needed to ‘shake hands’.

I was snuggled up to William in bed when the ding went off: the drone was en route. I looked at the lovely face next to mine and he smiled sadly.

‘My replacement is on his way, Chantal. I hope he will care for you as I have.’

Was that a tear I saw? I seemed to be having trouble seeing clearly for some reason.

‘I will miss you William, but we will meet again, have no fear.’

I stroked his cheek and he pressed his hand over mine. And there it was, a tear making its way down his face.

_Those guys…_

We dressed and William was standing by the door when the drone swooped down and hovered, gently placing the shiny white box containing my next lover onto the platform. The door opened at my command and in it rolled. I watched William; he took a deep breath and seemed to steel himself as the door swung open and out stepped a very different creature.

The same height, much the same build, even the same face essentially of course, but in just about every other way, a total contrast. Blazing blue eyes, but not soft and gentle like William’s, rather fierce and full of mischief. Their colour was intensified by a mane of straight jet-black hair, swept back from a pale face. He was wearing his elaborate semi-armoured costume from the movies, all black and green and gold, and it shone under the lights of my sitting room. If the nineteenth-century outfit my current swain was sporting looked slightly anachronistic here, Loki looked positively alien; which was what he was meant to be, so once again they had got it spot-on.

Loki’s gaze swept the room as William’s had a week earlier, but this was much more of an appraisal. He caught sight of me and nodded brusquely, then turned to his predecessor and took his hand. Their eyes met and I saw something pass between them. It was just the data transfer of course, but it seemed more human than that. William had a sad, lop-sided smile; Loki ‘s mouth was slightly open, his jaw jutting in a semblance of impatience.

‘Goodbye, William. Sleep well my love.’ I walked over and kissed him tenderly. I watched as he walked into his container, which had rolled up from its hiding place. His eyes locked on me and stayed that way until the door closed. I felt more than a pang of regret, especially when Loki took hold of my arm and pulled me to face him. No more gentlemanly manners for a week, it appeared. The voice was deeper than William’s, hoarser.

‘You are very beautiful, my lady. Thank you for inviting me.’

_Some manners then_

‘My pleasure, I’m sure,’ I said, meeting his intense gaze. ‘Call me Chantal.’ He was looking at me with undisguised lust. This time there was to be no beating around the bush (pardon the pun) from either of us.

He chuckled wickedly and stepped away, strutting around the room. No pretence of a mistress-servant relationship now; I wondered if he would do even the few domestic tasks that William had. Would I get breakfast in bed or cups of tea brought unasked-for to my side when reading? Delicious food delivered in the blink of an eye to a candle-lit, flower-adorned table? Somehow I doubted it, but as I watched him moving I felt there might be some compensation to be had.

Returning to my side he leaned close and smelt my hair and neck, nuzzling into them. His hand came up and grasped my arm again and then the other was flat against the small of my back and I was pressed into the hard leather of his costume. Even through the fairly solid panel I could detect that fabulous cock. I shivered in anticipation and another chuckle rumbled up and into my neck.

‘Oh yes, my lady. Shall we?’

He held out his hand in an ‘after you’ gesture and then followed me into the bedroom. I looked down at my hands; I was shaking, I suddenly realised. I was mildly scared by him; he had such an air of menace. I knew the software was supposed to protect me, at least the rational part of me did, but that wasn’t ruling the roost right then. I stopped, froze really, and he came up very close behind me and brushed my hair off one shoulder to speak softly into my ear.

‘You are quite safe, Chantal. I am here to please you, it is my glorious purpose.’

_Damn, they’re good_

Fear was immediately replaced with something else, something equally primitive and visceral. His hand moved down my arm to my hip and then slid deftly inside the waistband of my trousers. His fingers were cool, cooler than William’s, but of course: Frost Giant… I was _not_ cool; not at all. And I got even hotter when he used that hand to press me against his burgeoning erection. I heard the sound of leather on metal and then a loud thud as his upper garment hit the carpet. His right hand was still on my belly, just above my mound. Tantalisingly close. I felt his naked upper body against my back and then his left hand was up inside my tunic, caressing my breasts through my bra, not just the chill making the nipples stand up.

‘Take your clothes off, please, Chantal.’

His voice was so low I could barely hear it, but it still made all the hairs stand up on my arms. I did as he asked, casting them aside and before I could move he caught me from behind again and I discovered he had removed his remaining clothing as well. His hands went one to my breast and the other to the top of my thigh, bracing me as he thrust himself against my arse. I felt his enormous cock slide between my legs and slip along my dripping folds. I groaned with pleasure, anticipating what was to come. Then he told me.

‘Chantal, my beautiful one, I am going to have you in the bed, on the floor, on the chairs in the sitting room, on the kitchen counter, in the lake, by the lake, everywhere, and you are going to come and come and scream my name until they can hear you throughout the realm. Would that please you, my lady?’

My knees buckled but he held on to me.

I didn’t doubt him for a nanosecond; after all, I was very near to orgasm already and he had barely touched me so far. Gently he walked me to the bed and made me bend over it. I felt his tip against my entrance. Still teasing he paused, then his hand came around and pressed lightly on my clit. I bucked involuntarily and he slid into me in one swift movement, taking all the breath out of my lungs in the process. It was glorious. I came. As, no doubt, he intended.

_Who is teaching them this stuff?_

Of course, Loki did not stop just because I had one orgasm. Oh no, it was his sacred duty, I was to discover, to give me as many orgasms as anyone can possibly manage in a day. More, probably. He was relentless, and that showed from the start. He began to thrust into me with that magnificent cock, rolling his hips to make sure he was touching all the important places. He held me up off the bed at just the right angle with his strong arms, but mine were less so and after a few minutes I collapsed onto the covers and just luxuriated in the sensations:. his cock driving in and out of me, rubbing my clit and my g-spot with every thrust; the chill skin of his hips rhythmically hitting my bum each time; his long cool fingers on my belly; his other hand caressing my clit from time to time, keeping my arousal at the optimum level.

After a few minutes he withdrew completely and turned me over, his blue eyes meeting mine, his lips kissing my mouth at last. His mouth was warmer than the rest of him, and I sucked on his tongue which made him moan.

_God, they are so clever, those guys_

He kissed my neck then, working his way south, he ran his teeth over my nipples, drawing hisses from me. He had obviously collected all of William’s data alright, because he did all the things that drove me wild, but he did them in a _Loki_ way. When he finally reached my core with his mouth I was mad with frustration (it is amazing how quickly one becomes accustomed to pleasure, or should I say _addicted_ ). It only took a few flicks of his tongue and then a sucking of my clit into his mouth to tip me over. He growled that deep, menacing laugh into me as I came against his lips and teeth. In a flash he was inside me again and a third orgasm came hard on the heels of the second.

He was right. I did scream his name.

And I am ashamed to say that I didn’t think about William again for a while.

Life with Loki was very different. There were no sweet post-sex notes left on pillows, no sweet kisses in the kitchen, no sitting on the platform looking at the lake. No. But there was more sex, to fill in the gaps between the sex; before and after the sex; and during the sex. And he was true to his word. I did scream his name loudly, and I am sure that all the people who live above the lake heard me. If they didn’t they were either away or had turned their music or movies up very loud.

It was as well that I was not expected to be physically present at the board meeting half-way through my week with him, because I doubt I could have sat down. As it was, I attended our usual virtual conference standing up. The head of R&D had been invited to discuss the latest developments and he looked pointedly at me as he began the section of his presentation about the _Companions._ I was feeling rather uncomfortable

_(are they getting data at the labs? Do they know how many times we have fucked?)_

when he coughed and looked away suddenly. I turned and saw that Loki was standing behind me glaring at the man’s holographic image. Interesting; even in this artificial form, Loki could wield power over mortals. I had to stifle a laugh, but I was buoyed up by his presence and his comforting hand on my back.

I was exaggerating, by the way: we didn’t fuck _all_ the time, but we definitely went at it more than I had with William. God, Loki was so… arousing. He only had to look at me, or breathe on me or speak in that special sex voice of his and I was dripping. If I were to keep him on, I was going to have to get fitter, though. I could hardly walk by the end of the week, and I had a feeling that my next arrival would not be any easier on my lady parts.

# Part Four

## Day 18

I was 100% right about Oakley. He nearly broke me, the randy little bastard. I had to take a break; deactivate him and just, well, _rest_ everything for a few days. At least that is an option, and he didn’t take it personally, a wonderful feature. I just had to ask him to hibernate for four days and he did, no questions, no tantrums, just a cheery ‘Right-ho’ and off he went, into his box.

His arrival had been fun from the start. When the message came to say that he was on his way, Loki appeared mildly put out. He didn’t seem to like being reminded that he was simply one of a group, which would fit with his film character. A monstrous ego to match his massive cock. But he had treated me with love and tenderness, despite his regal bearing and arrogant manner. I was going to miss him, not least for his inventive approach to sex; I never knew what was coming next – apart from me, that is. I was always coming when Loki was around.

When Oakley’s door opened a tall, skinny, smirking teenage boy hopped out. I was strongly reminded of dear William, but the hair was shorter and the face a little younger. His manner was as arrogant as Loki’s, but in that ‘I’m twenty and I know everything already’ sort of way that some young men have. Loki was highly irritated by him, I could see, but then patience is not an Asgardian characteristic. He reached for Oakley’s hand quickly and then strode purposefully into his own container, not looking back at me. I felt a little hurt, but I knew it was his own pride that he was protecting. Not for the first time during all this, I had to remind myself that these were machines; their reactions were so lifelike, and their emotions so perfectly nuanced.

_Those people at R &D are fucking geniuses_

Oakley was as unsubtle as Loki had been.

‘So, Chantal, do ya wanna fuck?’

I was still recovering from what Loki had described as my ‘last opportunity to experience real power’ so I declined this gracious offer, and suggested we go for a swim instead. He dived in, naked of course, screaming like a banshee. The noise echoed around the valley and not a few of the occupants of the neighbouring houses came out to look. I can’t imagine what they must have thought of me, now swimming with a third young man in as many weeks. I didn’t give a fuck. Oakley came up swearing wildly; the water was very cold, especially at that time in the morning. I was fascinated to see how perfectly he replicated a human reaction to the freezing water; he gasped for breath, his skin went white under his tan, then red as the body tried to compensate, and goose-bumps broke out all over the skin I could see. None of it was real, of course, but he like the others could pass for human in most circumstances.

Once he had adjusted to the temperature of the lake, he attempted to get me to change my mind, successfully. The cool water had invigorated me, and I was developing a taste for al-fresco sex. I had always been quite shy and not at all daring when it came to when, where and how, but that was changing. He swam over to me and took my hand. Pulling it under the surface he pressed it against his erection (apparently this was unaffected by the cold) and grinned at me.

‘See what you do to me, Chantal? Please let me fuck you, right now.’

His face was so cute, his eyebrows raised and a boyish little grin lighting it up that I found it hard to refuse him. Loki had set us up what he had called a ‘love nest’ partially under the house. It was two steps from the water’s edge and it was more comfortable that splashing about and possibly drowning in the lake. It gave a little privacy, not that it made much difference with Loki; I screamed and he bellowed, so nobody could be in any doubt what was going on. I walked towards the pile of cushions and blankets, and Oakley ran past me, trailing water, his erection bobbing. I picked up a towel and threw it at him. He caught it deftly and flung himself onto the bedding, turning in mid-air to land on his back. He had a very smug expression on his face as he slowly dried his arms and chest. 

‘I knew you couldn’t resist me, darling,’ he said as I reached his side and lay down beside him.

‘Ah, I think you will find that I am the irresistible one, my dear.’

His smile faltered a little; this would happen with all of them occasionally I had noticed, if I said or did something unexpected. They took a split-second to recalibrate, but they were back on track very quickly.

‘Wait ‘til I’ve fucked you, then we’ll see who can resist who.’

His body was slighter than William’s or Loki’s, but not by much. He had the smoothly muscled chest of a younger man, but his legs and arse were a runner’s, strong and powerful (which boded well). Those freckles were back (Loki’s skin was like alabaster), and I traced them with my fingertip. A giggle emerged: he was ticklish! I was on him in a flash and we wrestled playfully for a few moments until he caught my hair and pulled my mouth up to meet his. His kisses were fabulous. Less calculated than Loki’s (I always felt he was distracting me with them) and more unabashed than William’s. That cheeky mouth was good for more than just snarky remarks, it seemed. His tongue slid over mine and he explored my mouth with it. I sucked on it gently, he returned the favour, and I felt myself succumbing to him. His hands were busy too, removing my swimming costume (I did not skinny-dip, not in broad daylight anyway) and once his hands reached the top of my legs I was lost.

As with all the others, I had done my research on Oakley. His was a character in a film about families, loneliness and desperation. He was an arrogant boy who played with the affections of an older woman, and who loved to fuck, apparently. I had enjoyed the film in a masochistic sort of a way: it hit a bit too close to home at times. But Oakley was alluring, for all his faults. And this Oakley was, as he had predicted, irresistible; the little shit. His particular talent was with his hands, his fingers to be precise. He had large hands with long fingers and he knew exactly how to use them. I was soon coming around them as he skilfully brought me to the brink and then tipped me over. He located my g-spot instantly thanks, no doubt, to the data transfer, but the combination of his fingers and his tongue was magical.

He wasted no time in consummating our relationship, rolling onto his back after he had made me come and encouraging me to straddle him. I wanted desperately to wipe that smug expression off his face but I was powerless. I needed that cock; it had become a drug, that thing, in all its manifestations so far. I impaled myself and felt him thrusting up into me, unable to wait like the young man he was. I pressed my hands on his chest and looked him in those beautiful blue eyes, now glassy with lust.

‘We will do this nice and easy, OK Oakley? Nice...’ I swirled my hips and he groaned, ‘...and...’ I did it again and he gritted his teeth, ‘…easy.’

That worked - for a bit. The lab had managed to replicate the enthusiasm and recklessness of youth in him perfectly. He was no Loki, able to keep me teetering on the edge of orgasm until I was weeping with need, nor was he my darling William, so loving and gentle. This was why they had chosen these personalities; to act as contrasts to one another. It was a clever tactic, commercially-speaking. I could not think at that moment, as Oakley was starting to lose control and thrash into me, just how I was going to choose. But I was in a very fortunate position: I didn’t need to choose unless I wished to do so; I could keep them all.

After two days of what I began to think of as the _Oakley Rut_ , I decided that enough was enough. He would grab me at all times and those fingers would work their magic until I was putty in his hands (almost literally). I was sore and aching in every limb. Fifteen years of using various vibrators and dildos was no preparation for being fucked every which way several times a day by men with massive cocks. I needed a respite, for a few days at least, so I called on Oakley to do the decent thing.

I took the time alone to think about the future. I had two more models to try, then I would have to make some kind of a decision. As I have said, these were mine and mine alone, until my death. I could keep them all and use them in rotation, or chose just one or more. It crossed my mind that I could even have more than one at once if I wished, but I quickly dismissed this idea; not my scene and anyway, there wasn’t really room in the house for more than one very tall man and me. One thing I did settle in my mind during the break was that whatever I decided, the amount of sex would have to reduce. I had no time for anything else; I hadn’t sung a note since William arrived, I hadn’t read as much as I wanted to (not at all during Loki’s _reign_ , as I thought of it) and my work was suffering. I found it hard to concentrate on important business papers while being finger-fucked by a golden-haired lothario.

No. The fucking had to be toned down. I went to reactivate my current lover with this in mind.

Oakley greeted the news with characteristic stoicism: then he reset and had a tantrum, accused me of not loving him and cried. I talked him round with beer and kisses and allowed him to make love to me for hours, on the understanding that I then would be left alone until after dinner. It worked (as so it should, these things - I had to keep saying it – were there to _please_ _me_ ) and we found an equilibrium which enabled me to function while still having wild sex with my artificial toy-boy and multiple orgasms as and when I wished.

It was a very satisfactory arrangement.

One of the other things I did while I was alone was to prepare for my next arrival, the last of the characters. This was the one I had been looking forward to the most. He, along with Tom Hiddleston himself, provided me with a tangible link to Great-Granny Julietta, because he was from her book. I knew she loved the plays he was in, three of them in all, and I hadn’t had the time to complete watching them before William came, so that was my task. I had watched two plays in a set of four which followed each other chronologically, only three of which featured the character, played in this version by the man himself of course. According to the analysis I read, these were considered amongst the very best adaptations ever made, and the performances were superb.

I was trembling with excitement the night before his arrival; a King, a real – to all intents and purposes – mediaeval monarch! And one as written by William Shakespeare, the greatest writer in the English language! And that body, that face, _those eyes_ in yet another manifestation, looking very different to the three who had gone before him. I awoke early the next day. I had not been so nervous since the day William came. I looked at Oakley, his eyes sadly regarding me from the pillow next to mine. He was still a boy; a very randy boy, but just a boy nonetheless. I was awaiting the arrival of a man, no, more than that: a king.

# Part Five

## Day 29

Did I say Loki was regal? _Wannabe_ , maybe.

When the door of King Henry V’s container opened and he strode out I knew immediately I was in the presence of greatness. His eyes swept the room assessing the situation quickly. They had obviously been working on the software all the time, because it appeared a much more human look than when William had done it just a few weeks earlier. When he saw me he paused and his face softened. He raised an eyebrow and I felt the butterflies in my stomach all take off at once.

_Whoa…_

Poor Oakley. He was fidgeting against the wall, trying to look nonchalant and failing. Next to Henry he looked about 12. It was hard to believe that there were just a few years between these two roles; what an actor that man was. Not for the first time I wished I could have been there to see him live onstage like Julietta did. I had facsimiles of him, very good ones, but to have been there, seeing the real, living, breathing, passionate man!

Henry had red hair, swept away from his face to fall down his neck in waves. All the softness of Oakley was gone; this was a battle-hardened warrior. His chiselled features were emphasised by a goatee beard. His eyes were burning with something which might have been anger; I needed to get to know him better. He exuded power, determination - and sex. He turned to his predecessor and took his hand firmly. Their eyes met and I swear Oakley shrank a little. His head swivelled slowly until our gazes locked. I walked over and kissed him softly; I was pretty certain this was a permanent goodbye. I liked him enormously, loved him a little even, but he was too young. I ran my fingers through his soft blond curls as he whispered to me.

‘I love you Chantal. Don’t forget me.’

He knew.

_Man, those guys were so good. Too good._

Behind me I heard Henry clearing his throat; people don’t keep royalty waiting. Oakley smiled sadly and with a brave little wave, he walked into his case, shoulders drooping. I watched until I could no longer see him. I shook my head to clear it; it was a machine!

_Get a grip, Chantal!_

But the simple fact was I was reacting emotionally to them. The engineers had done their work too well. He had become attached to me, that was the idea, the basic feature, but what they may not have considered was what had actually happened ‘in the field’. I had, so far, loved them all back. Not just wanted them to fuck me, not just found them irresistible and exciting; _loved them_ , each one so far, in different ways.

I turned and looked at Henry. He was watching me with an intensity that was both attractive and scary, in more or less equal measure. I tried to think: should I be deferential? Treat him as my king, or behave as if I was his equal? I considered the matter for a few seconds, then opted for the latter. After all, he was supposed to be there as a lover, and an android wasn’t going to push me around.

I smiled at him and he sidled over, taking my hand and kissing it in a courtly gesture that was surprisingly sexy. It seemed I was actually going to be wooed this time. He let go of my hand slowly and stood up straight as if for an inspection.

‘My lady Chantal, wilt thou have me?’

I clapped my hand over my mouth to prevent the girlish giggle that was rising in me from emerging. Why did this one make me feel so silly? I looked at him for a moment. He was wearing my favourite colour, although I knew this to be a coincidence since it was a costume from the adaptation. His burgundy velvet tunic buttoned from top to bottom, and he wore a sword over his slim hips, as was the custom in his day. His leather breeches swished as he stepped back and regarded me from the wall next to the door. He leaned against it, folded his arms and crossed his legs at the ankle, a playful smile on his lips.

I was melting.

So far, he had kissed my hand, nothing more. His eyes ran swiftly up and down my body, and a subtle shift in his expression suggested he liked it. He had better – that was what I had paid for, after all - but oddly, I was worried he wouldn’t, as if he was a real king and I was just someone trying to be his queen. I sat down on the nearest sofa, mainly so that I could press my thighs together. I was very aroused and needed to relieve it a little. In a flash he was on the move, taking two long strides across the room and gracefully perching beside me.

‘Are you unwell, my lady? You appear a little flushed.’

‘I am quite well, Henry. What you see is only the result of your presence.’ I looked him in the eye and was amused to see him look away, blushing.

_Those guys, they have done it again_

He seemed to gather himself and looked up into my face and this time his eyes betrayed his feelings; the lust in them made me feel faint. This was a man who was willing to fight for what he wanted, but in all honesty he had me in the palm of his hand the minute he walked in. He was the sexiest, the most alluring, the most irresistible so far. I could barely breathe.

‘Shall we take a walk, my lady?’

I took his hand and we descended the steps outside and did a tour of the lake. _So_ , I thought as we strolled along not speaking, _actual wooing_. Henry was scanning the mountainsides as if looking for dangers. It seemed to occur to him suddenly to speak and when he did so it was so loud in the stillness that it made me jump.

‘Are their fish in the lake, my lady?’

‘What? Oh, er yes, I think so. But it is not safe to eat them, I understand. They may be contaminated.’

He cocked an eyebrow, clearly puzzled.

_The programming is strong with this one_

‘Don’t worry, Harry; we will have plenty to eat.’

He smiled shyly; he was exhibiting all the characteristics of the Henry in the play. He woos his queen, claiming to be a rough warrior unschooled in the gentler arts. Artifice of course, he had been quite the swordsman in his youth (a euphemism for randy git), and it was only after the country needed him to step up that he put such things aside. However, after years of war he would have been fairly awkward, and most of his early encounters were with residents of London bawdy-houses, not ladies of his own rank.

We walked for about an hour in all, after stopping to sit on a fallen tree and look across the shimmering water for a while. We began to talk more after that faltering start. We discussed wine and food, horses (what I would have given to see a real live one!) and France. Most of what he knew was under the sea now, but I was familiar with it. As we reached the steps he put his arm around my back to help me up and I shivered at the touch. I turned my head and our faces were level. His eyes fell to my lips and I saw his tongue run over his own.

This had been the longest foreplay so far, and he hadn’t really touched me at all. And yet I was desperate for him. Not because I am a slut (although I don’t deny I love sex, crave it. Why else would have ordered these toys?), but because I defy any hetero woman to resist him. His eyes, hair, the beautiful face, the grace of his movements, the manners, the voice, oh dear god _the voice_. Warm, smooth, like a silk sheet poured over one; I was helpless. I decided to take matters into my own hands.

‘My lord,’ I began, ‘I…’ He stopped my mouth with a long finger.

‘Henry, or Harry, please.’

‘Harry,’ I started again, ‘I do not wish to shock you, my lord, but if you do not take me to the bedchamber soon I fear I might die.’

He smiled, chuckling. My wantonness didn’t seem to bother him as much as I feared.

‘Well, my lady Chantal, we can’t have that, can we?’

I led him through the door and he pulled me against him, turning me in his arms so that his lips could gently touch mine. And it was gentle, at first. In keeping with all that happened so far, he was slow, careful and respectful. As we kissed he held me against him and there it was: my faithful friend. But there was no urgency in his actions. He began to caress my arms, then his hands were on my back, up and down, but not touching my bottom as yet. I laced my fingers together around his neck as he continued to kiss me, our tongues jousting.

I took the initiative and unfastened his sword belt, moving on to the ridiculous number of buttons on his tunic, He gasped as I ground against his erection and I watched his eyes close with the pleasure of the sensation. Finally I had enough and pulled the garment over his head. He was naked under it and I got to work on his breeches. My own modern clothing was much easier to remove, and much as I appreciated the accuracy and attention to detail of the workshops at _BES,_ I made a mental note to tell them to fit zippers and Velcro where possible.

Once we were both finally naked he knelt at my feet and allowed his eyes to caress me from head to toe. His cock was standing to attention but still he would not rush, and how much more arousing was that than dear Oakley’s vigorous approach. I swore there were tears in his gorgeous blue eyes as he regarded me solemnly, but I might have been looking through some of my own. Finally he touched my bare skin, running his fingertips up the sides of my legs. My knees buckled; I was dripping with want. Still he was painstakingly slow.

As his fingers reached the swell of my arse he sighed deeply and squeezed the cheeks gently. Leaning forward, he pressed his cheek against my belly and inhaled my scent. Unable to resist any longer, I wove my fingers into his soft red hair and massaged his scalp gently. His shudder of pleasure ran through my centre and provoked one in me.

‘Chantal,’ he whispered as he stood and kissed me again, his hands finally reaching my breasts and cupping them softly. He lowered his mouth to first one nipple, then the other, his tongue swirling until they stood proud. I moaned and pressed his face into me. I needed him to touch me somewhere else, but he was taking his time. His cock was making its presence felt and I decided to take matters – well, _it_ – into my own hands once more. I curled my fingers around it, marvelling again at how perfectly that satin-softness over stony-hardness had been reproduced. Henry gasped loudly and moaned louder when I began to work it with my hand.

‘My lady, please…’

He was pushing me towards the bed, and I allowed it. I was ready; more than ready. His eyes travelled over me again and the expression in them made me go weak again. I have no idea how they do it, but it is catnip. He joined me on the bed and then he was there, between my legs, his blue eyes locked on mine. I nodded slightly and he slid into me. I almost came there and then, it was so delicious. As it was I called his name and he grimaced.

‘My lady, I am so…’

‘Don’t worry, Henry. We have so much time.’

_Damn, those guys! Just back from war, frustrated, desperate Henry! Of course he’d be unable to last the first time…_

As it happened, he did last long enough for me to reach the first of my royal orgasms. But only because it only took a few thrusts of his powerful hips to get me there. He stayed where he was, panting hard and groaning for a few minutes, then I felt him stiffening again, still inside me. I squeezed him and his cock twitched.

‘My lady…’

‘My lord…’

He kissed me again, and this time there was no dancing, no shyness, no waiting. This was the kiss of a lover who can wait no longer. He began to roll his hips and I could tell he was nearly fully-erect again. I caught him off-balance and rolled us over so that I was on top. He grinned, clearly liking this turn of events. I began to swirl my hips and his head rolled back on the pillow. All the practice I had been getting over the past month came in handy. I put my hands on his chest and I went for it, rubbing my clit over his pubic bone with every movement of my body. I moaned, then I screamed as my orgasm hit. He sat up and held me in his long arms as he thrust upwards and before long I was there again, biting the pale skin of his shoulder as I rode it out. I licked the freckles I had become so attached to on William, and Henry shivered as he had.

I paused. _My William._

My hesitation did not pass unnoticed.

‘Is all well, Chantal? You seem distracted.’ He was still inside me, giving little bucking movements which sent shocks of pleasure through my core.

‘Yes, Henry. I was just reminded of another lover.’

His jaw tightened and I saw a simulation of jealousy cross his face. They had thought of everything, it seemed. I caressed his cheek and kissed him. He eagerly returned my touch and thrust more vigorously until I spasmed around him as his own ‘orgasm’ hit.

As I lay regarding the ceiling in the afterglow, I felt relieved that there was only one more to go after Henry. This was becoming an emotional ordeal. Even though I knew they were not actual human beings, their emotional responses and clear affection for me made the constant betrayal of their love painful. I thought of William, Loki and Oakley, under the platform in their boxes, sleeping. Were they dreaming of me? I had to stifle a sob and Henry pulled me tighter against his chest, kissing my hair.

‘All is well, my beautiful Chantal. No harm can come to you now I am here.’

_Oh Henry_ , I thought. _It already has_.

# Part Six

## Day 37

I chose to have a break after Henry. I needed one, just to get myself together, not physically so much as emotionally. I was on the homeward stretch but it was all taking its toll. I began to accept that the snotty saleswoman had been right: I had been greedy and rash. I don’t know if she knew I would end up in a puddle of tears, but nevertheless she was correct. I could not cope with another goodbye/hello scenario and I needed a rest, and time to reflect. But when I made that decision to take a little respite time, I had no idea that would have so much to think about.

My time with Henry was a week of being treated like a queen, an actual, mediaeval – well, Shakespearean – queen. And by the most handsome, dashing, loving, sexy king in all of literature (I may be biased). No woman could have been happier than I was. The sex was magnificent of course; that was fundamental feature of the _Companions_ after all. But he was such marvellous company too. He was knowledgeable and curious, sang like an angel and laughed and joked. He worshipped me and he showed it at every opportunity. I found it hard to say goodbye, and I was tempted to simply cancel the last part of my order and keep only Harry.

We parted with tears and hugging and kissing. He was rather angry with me, as I anticipated he would be. He could not understand why I needed to look beyond him, and at that moment neither did I. But still I bid my liege farewell and he stomped into his container with the same ill-humour as Loki had. The data transfer between him and the next arrival would have to be a remote one.

My fifth and final _Companion_ was to be based on the actor who had portrayed all the previous four: Tom Hiddleston himself. He was a very big star in his day; adored by women, admired by critics, loved by his colleagues. He had a talent for changing his look, to accommodate whichever role he was undertaking at the time, so there were a range of options available to me in order to customise him to my precise requirements. And that was why I went back to Great-Granny Julietta’s book one more time, as soon as Henry’s capsule slid over the ledge to the storage area.

I opened the heavy tome and this time not only the yellowed review cutting fell out but also something I had never spotted before. A small piece of paper, also thin and stained with age, folded neatly. When I opened it I nearly died. It was a love letter, of sorts.

To Julietta.

_From Tom Hiddleston._

I began to read it and then stopped. It was too personal, too… _intimate_ and I felt as if I was prying. I never knew her, although I have a photograph of me on her lap as a baby, taken not long before she died at the age of 97. Even then you could see the beauty she had once been. My mother had shown me some old pictures (a few of them non-digital, actual card prints) of her as a young woman. She had long glossy dark hair, brown eyes and a voluptuous figure. She must have had many admirers. In the picture of us together she is looking at me, smiling and I am looking up at her. It is strange, but I have always felt connected to her, despite having no actual memories; at least, not conscious ones.

I put the note down and crossed the room. Feeling restless I picked up a jacket and went for walk along the lakeshore as Henry and I had done every day of his stay. As I strode along I wrestled with the ethics of the situation. Should I read the rest of it? The words had been written for her eyes only, after all. But then again, both parties were long dead, so would it really hurt? I sat on the tree trunk and let my mind turn over all the pros and cons, and by the time I set off back I had come to an answer.

Before I picked it up again, I brought up a picture of Tom Hiddleston in his prime and put it next to one of the scanned photos of the young Julietta I had on file. They made a handsome couple on my wall. Then I reached for the note, and began reading from the top.

**_December 2013_ **

**_My darling Julietta_ **

**_I shall never forget last night. How could I? My life will forever be divided into two parts: B.J. and A.J. I know that we cannot be together, not now, but please don’t forget me, will you?_ **

**_You will always be here with me. Lying on my bed I can still smell you, if I close my eyes I can still feel you and taste you. No one will ever compare._ **

**_When I saw you there watching me, your eyes as full of tears as mine had been, your beautiful face stained with them, I had to stop myself from reaching out to you at that moment, from the stage. I have never felt like that before. Never. You called to me like a siren, and only my desire to keep you safe held me from you, like Odysseus tied to the mast._ **

**_When I saw you at the stage door my heart flew up and almost out of my chest with joy._ **

**_I will be waiting, always. For you. Only you._ **

**_Please my darling, please come back to me one day._ **

**Sonnet CX**

**_YourTom._ **

I looked it up of course, immediately.

_Alas! ‘tis true I have gone here and there,/And made myself a motley to the view,/Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,/Made old offences of affections new;/ Most true it is that I have look’d on truth/ Askance and strangely; but by all above,/ Those blenches gave my heart another youth,/ And worse essays proved thee my best of love./ Now all is done, have what shall have no end:/ Mine appetite I never more will grind/ On newer proof, to try an older friend,/ A god in love, to whom I am confined./ Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,/ Even to thy pure and most loving breast._

I blinked back tears.

_Whoa._

This all put a very different complexion on things. I looked at the margin notes for Coriolanus with fresh eyes; she hadn’t just seen the play live, she had gone home with the lead! The very man who was the template for my electronic glorified vibrators. And for him at least, it wasn’t just a meaningless one-night-stand.

_Oh my, Julietta!_

_You minx._

_I knew we had a connection._

This discovery solved one question immediately: I knew which ‘manifestation’ of Mr Hiddleston I had to choose. And, judging from what I had seen on screen that would not be a problem. But I felt a little weird about it now, as if I were cheating with a friend’s husband or something. I soon snapped out of that; an hour or so browsing the web made me anxious to see him in the ‘flesh’. I sent my final specs to _BES_ for my last delivery and settled down for a week of peace and quiet and a cold, empty bed.

………………………………………………

## Day 44

_There you are._

He was, simply, gorgeous. No wonder he had literally millions of women dancing to his tune. My facsimile of Tom Hiddleston stepped out of his box on those ridiculously long legs, glanced around before catching sight of me and smiling that beautiful smile. I was lost: as Baloo the Bear says in that old cartoon, _‘Gone, man, solid gone…’_ He stood looking at me, shaking his legs slightly as if he were warming up for a run or trying to calm nervous energy. I was to learn that he was often moving, even when apparently still. He burned with energy and a desire to live every moment.

‘Tom,’ I said, trying in my turn to calm my own nerves, ‘welcome.’

‘Chantal,’ he closed the space between us with two strides, ‘I am so happy to meet you.’

He engulfed me in a hug. It was the warmest, safest hug I had ever experienced. I could have stayed there in those long arms for ever. I gulped. It was going to be an interesting week: the others had made me want them immediately, but this one? This one had made me _love him_ right away. He pulled back far enough to look at my face, then kissed me softly on the mouth. I closed my eyes and just lived in the moment. It was a long moment, but it could never be long enough.

_Oh, Julietta, how could you give this up?_

When the kiss finally broke, he laughed nervously. I stroked his cheek. I didn’t know what to say. I nearly asked him about Julietta, before I remembered that this wasn’t Tom Hiddleston, just a marvellously accurate, lifelike representation of him. The clever people who had made him used all the data publicly available, every picture and video they could find. But they did not have access to his inner person, his personal memories, his private thoughts. But oh, how I longed to know what had happened, and especially why she could not stay! Was she married? Not insurmountable, surely? A million questions bubbled up and bounced behind my lips, none of which this deliciously handsome creature could answer.

He seemed to notice the view suddenly and walked over to the glass wall. I had stopped using the alternative images since the _Companions_ started arriving, as if the Vosges and the grey, cloudy skies were enough for me now. He looked down at the water, over at the mountains and up at the sky.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmured.

I followed his gaze and realised he was right. Then I looked at him again, properly this time. His hair was short, unlike any of the others, cut closer at the sides and back of his head. There were a few soft curls on top, enough to grab if I felt the need. He was wearing a twenty-first century suit, a three-piece with a smart shirt and tie under it. It fit him snugly; I assumed it was made to fit that way. He filled the shirt well, because underneath was the body he had developed to play Caius Martius, Roman hero and villain, the role he was playing in December 2013. The trousers were very snug – he was known for that – and the ensemble was finished with a pair of very shiny black dress shoes.

He looked good enough to eat.

‘Beautiful,’ I murmured.

He turned at the sound of my voice, and he reached for me. Pulling me into his arms he waved a hand at the screen on the wall.

‘Music,’ he said, ‘for slow dancing.’

Something started up, not the kind of thing I usually listened to but I didn’t care. I looked up into his face and fell headlong into his blue eyes. He brought the hand that was holding mine up to rest on his chest and the other went around my waist, pressing me more closely to him. And we began to move. He took a deep breath and rested his head on the top of mine as I leaned into him, just letting the music and his strong limbs guide me. Once again, I felt as if I could stay there forever, just swaying gently like reeds in the breeze. I felt him adjusting his arm and then his hand came up and lifted my chin. He kissed me again, not so softly. His tongue pressed and I opened, allowing him to explore my mouth. He moaned quietly and the sound travelled like lightening to my core. I ran my hands over the muscles of his back and felt them reacting under my touch.

Suddenly he swept me up into his arms and he walked, carrying me into the bedroom, kissing me as we went. He lay me down gently on the bed, removed his jacket and waistcoat, kicking off his shoes and joined me. I looked at his face, the eyes dark with passion, his mouth slightly open as he ran his hand up my thigh until I gasped at the contact so close to where I needed it. My clothes came off easily enough, one hard tug and the tunic comes away readily, as do the trousers. He took longer over my underwear, kissing me through the lace of my bra and the light fabric of the knickers until I was climbing the walls with need for him.

‘Oh Chantal, you are exquisite,’ he whispered in my ear as he kissed his way down to my collarbones, making me writhe in ecstasy at his touch. The music continued to play in the sitting room and he hummed along with it, the vibrations ratcheting up my arousal. The room smelled of sex and he had hardly begun. I felt his fingers tugging lightly on my panties and then they were inside them, moving to where I needed them to be, at a tortuously slow pace. My hips bucked upwards involuntarily and Tom chuckled into my breast.

‘Please, Tom.’

I felt that broad smile against my skin, and he did as I asked. In one swift movement he removed my pants and slid two fingers between my dripping folds. His thumb rubbed my clit and I was almost there. He moved down the bed and his mouth closed around my swollen bud and I was. I called his name with the little breath remaining and allowed the pleasure to wash over me. He didn’t stop his ministrations, just lapped softly as I rode it out and then started again as I began to recover. That turned out to be the first of a dozen orgasms he was to give me on the first day.

He could do everything the others did, I was to discover. I have no idea how the engineers knew that (I know it sounds stupid, but I think this was based on the real man. Don’t ask me why, but I just do). And although the lovemaking was wonderful, passionate, thoughtful, kind, inventive, it was that – lovemaking. When I looked into those eyes, the ones that threatened to drown me if I stared at them too long, what I saw was love. I know it was a combination of software, hardware and bio-engineering, _I KNOW THAT._ But that knowledge changed nothing.

But something did. It happened on the morning of the fourth day. We were in bed (of course) and he was looking as William had at my books. He reached over and picked up the Shakespeare anthology. 

‘I love him, you know,’ he said, his face lighting up as he sat up a little to open the book on his lap. I had forgotten that the letter was still in there where Julietta had put it. I kept it there as it seemed appropriate. It fell onto the sheet and Tom picked it up and unfolded it. His lightening quick circuits read in in a nanosecond and he turned to look at me, his face working as his programming readjusted to this new information. Fascinated, I watched as emotions crossed his features. What would he do, how would he react?

Eventually the turmoil seemed to settle and his beautiful mouth set in a line of tension. There were tears in his eyes. He seemed to be angry.

‘How did you come by this?’

# Part Seven

## Day 47

‘How did you come by this?’

I was startled by the harsh tone in his voice; this was new.

_All the emotions_. _They have ALL the emotions_

‘It was in the book. It belonged to my Great-Grandmother.’

He looked at me, blazing eyes boring into mine, but he said nothing more. He got out of bed, dressed quickly and left the room. A few seconds later I heard the soft sound of the external door opening and closing.

I lay there, trying to marshal my thoughts. What was his programming calling on to induce this reaction? He couldn’t know anything about this, all the data they had used must be in the public arena, and this can’t have been, surely? And then I remembered.

About ten years previously, just before my husband died, there had been a mass buy-up of personal data by big companies, ahead of draconian new privacy legislation. Nothing financial of course, that was already covered. No, this was just old email and blogs, other online files belonging to the dead. And _BES_ had been one of the companies that bought gigabytes of stuff. I couldn’t understand it at the time; what did a technology company like ours need it for? But James had assured me it was a good investment. I dressed quickly and went into the study, locking the door. I didn’t want Tom walking in on me when he came back.

‘What can I do for you, Mrs Ba…, um, Chantal?’

I had struggled to get my PA to call me by my first name. I had worked in offices and promised myself I would never treat my staff as anything but my equals.

‘I need you to search the company files for me, look to see if the personal data belonging to Tom Hiddleston (I spelt it out for her) was in that batch we purchased a while back, before the PDA came in, please. Oh, and while you are at it, look for Julietta Peroni too.’ She nodded. ‘Put whatever you find into a folder and send it to me please. Oh, and Suzanne?’

‘Yes Chantal?’

_Good girl._

‘As soon as possible please. Top priority. Thanks.’

I waved my hand to end the holo-call. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I could have found out more about them, maybe. If _BES_ did havehis data, he might be out there now, walking around downloading it to factor it in to his behaviour. Or perhaps he had Tom’s data already and was adding hers, for context. I couldn’t think what else he was doing. I mean, it’s a machine, it isn’t actually the Tom who slept with Julietta.

Who _loved_ Julietta.

I left the room and walked over to look out of the glass wall. I could just see him in the distance, pacing along the water’s edge. He looked exactly like a man in the midst of emotional turmoil, at least from what I could make out from this far away. His hands were in fists and he would stop suddenly every now and then and look around him, as if he had forgotten where he was. He had turned back towards the house and appeared to be heading home when the message ping went off behind me.

There was the folder, and Suzanne had marked it with both names.

_So we had both of their files._

Before I had time to open it, I heard Tom come back indoors. There was a soft tap on the study door.

‘Chantal? Are you in there?’

‘Yes, Tom. I’ll just be a moment.’

‘I need to explain.’ There was silence for a beat. ‘It was a bit of a shock, seeing the note again. I’m sorry.’

I hesitated. I could stay where I was and read through the data, but it could take me hours to find what I needed, or I could let him tell me. He had obviously been sent the same information, but his electronic brain could sift through it infinitely faster than my poor, tired old analogue version. I opened the door and he stepped in and wrapped his arms around me. His eyes were wet, and as we embraced I felt a sob run through him. I braced myself; this was not going to be a happy tale, I feared. I led him over to the seating and sat, patting the cushion beside me.

‘Tell me.’

I watched his face as he folded his long legs and settled at my side. How had they done this, the software designers? I must find out who was responsible and give them a raise. If any other company got wind of this we might have a fight on our hands to keep talent of this magnitude. They had programmed the _Companions_ to learn and adapt, I knew that, but this was a whole new level of genius! I looked at Tom’s handsome features as he wrestled with this new situation. What he was going to tell me almost certainly wouldn’t be the full, 100% accurate story, but since all involved were dead, it was probably going to be the best I could get. An interpretation of the available data: it would have to suffice.

‘I didn’t know who she was at first. She was just a face in the audience; she came to the _Donmar_ , to see _Coriolanus_.’

‘That much I knew, Tom. She wrote it in the book.’

‘Of course. Sorry.’ The look on his face was one of such sadness that I was unable to stop myself from kissing him. He blushed, making me want to do it again.

‘I saw her during the performance. I had to look at the audience at times and she was sitting in the front row. She was so beautiful I couldn’t stop myself from looking at her again and again. She noticed of course.’ He closed his eyes and sighed, as if reliving the events. He stood up and walked to the window.

‘Then at the curtain call I looked in her direction again and I could tell she was crying. It looked as if she had been crying a lot. The play has a very sad ending, you see, and my character dies. Our eyes met and it took all my will power not to go to her at that moment. But I couldn’t, not then, so I just had to hope she would come to the stage door afterwards. I had never showered and dressed so fast, and when I got outside there she was! I was so happy I almost punched the air!’

He was smiling broadly but his eyes were shut, as if he needed to concentrate to summon up the memory.

‘I had written something on a card, just in case she was there, and when she reached the front of the queue I asked her name and signed her programme, then I handed her the card as secretly as I could.’

‘What had you written? I asked, desperate to know.

‘It had my mobile number and I had asked her to text me right away.’

‘Did she?’

‘Not immediately, no. About an hour later, after I had gone home in a state of depression, I got a text. She asked me what I wanted.’

I raised an eyebrow; smart woman!

‘So what was your answer?’

‘I said I just wanted to get to know her, have a drink or a coffee or something. She agreed to come to my place.’

‘Wow. She must have liked you. I don’t think I would go to a man’s home on the strength of a few looks and an autograph.’

‘Well, no, but she did. The first thing she told me was that she was married.’

‘Ah.’

‘Yes, but it didn’t stop her staying. And by the next morning I was in love, and I am pretty sure she loved me too.’

‘Oh Tom! What happened?’

‘She went home, back to her husband - and her children. That was the real problem, she had three sons. I knew she wouldn’t leave them, she had told me and I couldn’t expect that of her.’

He let out a deep breath and I saw a tear overflow his eye and soon he was crying freely.

‘Sometimes you just meet someone, another soul, a person you connect with on such a deep level that it spoils you for anyone else. That was what happened with us. I never felt like that about another person, how could I?’

‘Did you ever meet again?’

He bit his lip, and more tears flowed as he shook his head.

‘A few emails, that was all. She replied to me for a few months, then she stopped suddenly and that was that. Perhaps her husband suspected or something, even though she had set up a special account. After that, I just had to make do with my memories of our one night of passion.’

_Wait a minute. Did he say three sons?_

‘Tom?’

‘Yes darling?’

‘My Grandmother was, well she _is_ Julietta’s youngest child, her fourth child. Her only daughter, born in September 2014.’

Once again I watched as he assimilated this new information. I empathised with him; I was still processing it myself.

_Could it be? I mean, if she had slept with Tom, she would hardly go home and sleep with her husband right away, surely? But in that case, that meant…_

I jumped up and away from him. I felt faint; he was a pale as I felt.

‘Chantal, this could mean…’

‘I know what it could mean, Tom.’

He stood up as well. ‘I think we should check.’

I brought up the search screen and asked for a check on the DNA profiles of Tom and my grandmother, Silvia Peroni. While private data has been made more private in recent times, a person’s DNA is a matter of public record, and has been for nearly a hundred years. The rights and wrongs of this were debated long and hard, but I gave thanks that day to the politicians who decided on this legislation. I asked the system to check for any blood relationship.

There was none. The relief was unbelievable. I mean, just the thought…

But what had happened? There was only one person I could ask, and she was a long way away, deaf, mostly blind and nearly a hundred years old. Would she even know, or remember? Even so, I had to try, so I put a holo-call into Nana Silvia’s nursing home in Scotland.

‘Chantal sweetie! Lovely to see you! You look thin, dear. Are you eating enough?’

‘Yes Nana, I’m fine. I need to ask you some things about Great-Granny Julietta.’

‘Ask away, love.’

‘Nana, I found something the other day, in her Shakespeare book…’

‘Ah. You found the note, did you?’

I wasn’t able to speak for a moment.

_What the actual..?_

‘Nana? What do you know about that?’

‘When she was very old, just before she died, Mum gave it to me. She had kept it safe for nearly seventy years. She said that it was from a man she had loved but could not have. He was…’

‘I know who he was Nana! Holy shit!’

‘What’s wrong dear?’

I had no idea where to start, and I had no intention of telling Nana I had spent many hundreds of thousands of Euros on sex toys, based on the man her mother had a torrid affair with.

_Fuck._

‘Well, you’ve just told me my great-grandmother was in love with someone other than your father. It is a bit of a shock.’

‘Yes, sorry. I wondered if you might guess if you read the note.’

‘Do you know why she never, you know, did anything more about it?’

‘You mean, why didn’t she run off to be with him? He was gorgeous, wasn’t he?’

‘Well, yes Nana, but not just that. I mean, reading that note, he loved her so much!’

‘I know. But she had us, me and my brothers, and Dad, well, he would have taken us away from her if she had. She had to choose, and she chose us. But she never forgot him.’

‘I suppose not, since she kept his letter…’

Nana interrupted. ‘I asked her about it, when she gave it to me; why she had stayed even after we had grown up. She told me she always loved him but that it had been so perfect she was afraid to spoil it with the realities of life. She preferred to keep it a precious memory.’

I said goodbye to Nana and leaned back in the chair. I had no idea what to do, but one thing was certain: I would not be keeping Tom. In fact, I wanted him to leave immediately. I know it wasn’t actually incest, not even close, but it felt like it. He said goodbye to me tenderly.

‘I understand how you feel Chantal; it doesn’t seem right, does it? But please know this: I loved her very much, and I love you too.’

We bid farewell and I cried for a while; for him, for Julietta, for myself. I was very upset, confused, torn. I felt unable to talk to anyone about the decision I needed to make, not least because it would mean confessing that I had bought the _Companions_. I loved my mother and my sister, as well as my friends, but would they still love me after hearing I had been fucked every which way to Sunday by a succession of life-like sex-bots? I decided that I should sleep on it.

## …………………………………………………

## Day 55

I spent much of my time in the following days thinking about Julietta. What must she have gone through, how hard must it have been for her? She meets the love of her life, has one night with him and then leaves, never to be with him again. Did she cut off communication because she realised she was pregnant again? Like me, did she wonder briefly if the child was his? I cried for her, I spent hours crying for her. I looked the photo of little me, cradled on her lap and wondered what she was thinking when she looked at Nana, at Mum, at me. Did she ever wonder, as I had, how things might have been if Nana _had_ been his daughter? Or what her life might have been like if she could have joined him?

And poor Tom. He had loved her, and could never have her beyond that one perfect night.

All that was history and could not be changed, and I had a present day problem to deal with. After a few days I had to pull my thoughts together into something coherent. Could I keep _any_ of the _Companions?_ I wrestled with it; they weren’t him, only characters he had portrayed, and yet it still felt a little weird. I felt an even greater connection with them now, and with Julietta. When I imagined being with any of them I felt less uncomfortable than if I thought about being with ‘Tom’. However, I still wasn’t convinced that I would be happy about it, in the long run.

Nonetheless I missed them, all of them in their own way. I loved them. I loved Loki, all arrogance and pride and determination to make me orgasm until I couldn’t breathe. I loved Oakley, all hormones and randiness and teenage enthusiasm. I loved Henry, my royal suitor; I missed his charm and manners, his company. And how I adored my first, my sweet William! His beautiful face, his care and attention to detail, his big, romantic heart. They each had an independent existence, they had all changed in the short time they were with me, and I felt reasonably certain that in time I could forget their connection to the man I had discovered was part of my own family history.

Two things finally decided it for me. The first was the recognition that, despite all appearances, they were just machines. The most sophisticated and complex machines imaginable, but, nonetheless, machines. And the second was the thought of going back to being alone, without the comfort of the companionship they had brought me, quite apart from the mind-blowing sex; well, that thought was more than I could bear.

So, darlings, no doubt you are dying to know who I chose. Not Oakley of course, I had counted him out early on. Was it haughty Loki, all green and gold and black hair? Was it Henry of England, victor of Agincourt?

Well it was quite simple in the end: I wanted love. I wanted someone who would look after me through whatever the years would bring. I wanted someone who would lift my heart simply by being there. So there was only one possible choice, really.

## Day 1056

William is here now, beside me, reading this tale of love and loss, of lust and tenderness. His face is a picture as he reads my words. He smiles, he cries a little. No doubt the wincing is caused by my descriptions of my amorous encounters with his ‘colleagues’. He is not jealous, it is not in his nature, but I know it hurts him to read the words. I reach over and caress his cheek, and he smiles sadly at me.

‘I cannot pretend to be pleased in the knowledge that you shared yourself with these others, even after you and I had been together.’

Even now, after the years together, he is still the same sweet, gentle, slightly unsure man I fell in love with.

‘I know my love. I am sorry now that I did so. I felt at the time you left me that you were all I needed. I should have listened to my heart.’

I kiss him softly on the lips, tangling my fingers in his golden curls. He looks at me, his beautiful eyes filling with tears.

‘Just remember, William my love, I did not hesitate to choose you.’


End file.
